Persephone —Short story

Beau Gordon
2 min readAug 12, 2020

Persephone stepped out of the painting. People in the gallery gasped as her naked body emerged from the flat frame. A woman screamed and covered her Childs eyes. The curator ran into the room, a stuffy old man with sharp eyes that looked down his long jewish nose.

“Miss, how did you get in here? Where are your clothes?”

“Silence”, said Persephone, power in her words flooding around the curator holding his mouth closed. She walked to the door which exploded outwards. Her feet crunched broken glass but she did not appear to feel any pain. She had a distant look in her eyes, as if she where in a dream. She walked across the road, one car swerving out the way, another car speeding straight for her. She looked at the car just before it hit her and her eyes lit up with green fire. The car hit an invisible wall flattening the engine.

Two police men trotted up to her as she entered Central Park. “Mam, where are your clothes?”

Persephone whispered something the police couldn’t hear but their horses understood and charged away, the police men barely holding on. She entered a rocky part of Central Park, climbing to the highest bolder. “What have they done to you my love.” She said, looking out over the buildings of lower centra park as she remembered the island before the virus that is man had spread across this world. When gods roamed the earth Manhattan had been the resting place for her beloved, the most mighty of the gods. He lay down to rest and time had hardened his skin, trees covered his body. Persephone called his name “Cronos” and he awoke.